


Unshaken

by LittleSnow



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon Divergence, Crimes & Criminals, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fix-It, Gangs, Guns, Horseback Riding, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Just joking..., Kidnapping, Misogyny, Murder, POV Arthur, POV Third Person, Protective Arthur Morgan, Racism, Religion, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, TB, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, Wild West, everybody needs a hug, except micah, micah is a rat, or am I?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSnow/pseuds/LittleSnow
Summary: When Pearl leaves Saint Denis to reunite with her siblings, she returns to her hometown only to find an abandoned house and questions that'll never be answered.Her life takes an unexpected turn when three men show up in the middle of the night, asking for her help.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	1. Intruders

It took her a minute to register what was in front of her. On her way there, she had listed everything she wanted to say, thought of all the possible outcomes but, somehow, this one hadn’t crossed her mind. _Coming back to an empty house_.

She stood on the front porch, a hand on the wooden railing, gazing absently at the ripped pages of newspapers scattered across the floorboards. The front door seemed to have been kicked a few times—judging by the damaged frame—and she stepped into the house, dread tightening her throat. 

Cobwebs were lacing the walls and every surface of the house was covered with a thick layer of dust. The floor creaked under her boots as she stepped over the empty cans, glancing around her.

 _Everything was damaged._ Several floorboards had been ripped out, mold was spreading on the wood and some of the windows were smashed.

She went through all the cupboards, desperately searching for any clues to what had happened, but she only found one thing, abandoned in the back of a drawer. _A photograph_. She ran a thumb over the handwriting. _Peter J. Wright, 1850_. She bit the inside of her cheek and shoved the photo in her dress pocket with a shaky sigh before heading back out.

“Let’s ask the neighbors,” she whispered, hoisting herself onto her horse.

After crossing the field, she slowed her to a trot, following the path snaking through the woods until she saw a house in the distance.

She was already hitching her horse to a post in front of the old barn when the front door slammed open, revealing an old man with long stringy hair, a shotgun hanging loosely in his hand.

“Tell your coward husband that sending his wife to sweeten me up ain't gonna change a thing!” he shouted, face contorted in disgust.

She furrowed her eyebrows with a small smile and shielded her eyes from the sunlight.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Doyle.” She slowly stepped forward.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Pearl Wright,” she replied, lowering her hand, “Peter’s daughter?”

The man narrowed his eyes, squinting, until a glint of recognition shot across his eyes. He relaxed his grip on the weapon and let out a chuckle.

“Oh, lord, sorry about that. Of course, _Pearl_ ,” he cackled, “How could I forget when we used to chase you and little Jim off our property every week! You'd hide in the barn, scare the horses, let the chickens out... No wonder I have bad legs.”

It was her turn to chuckle.

“We were little pests, weren't we?”

He gave a dismissive wave of his hand with a quiet ‘ah’.

“You were good kids. Always helping your pa, never complaining. He was proud of you, he always told me that much.”

She nodded with a faint smile and he gestured for her to follow him inside.

“What was that about?” she asked as she stepped into the house nodding toward the gun.

He put the weapon away and started filling a percolator with water.

“Some rich idiot is trying to buy my house but I ain't selling. He offered me more gold but I told him—” He hung the percolator over the fire before turning around. “Sit down. So I told him, what do I need your _shiny_ gold for, hmm? I ain't got no kids and my Harriet passed away five years ago.”

Nodding, she sat down, the old chair squeaking under her.

“All my memories are here, this is _my_ home, you know,” he continued, “So I told him to get off my land and shove that gold where the sun don't shine, or it'll be one of my bullets next time.”

“Don't sell the house,” she agreed, glancing around her, “It's nice here. I like it.”

She remembered the place, nothing had changed. The same trophy head above the fireplace, the old dark furniture and the same red curtains lightened by the sun.

“So what brings you back here?” He sat at the table, placing a cup in front of her. “I almost thought I'd seen a ghost.”

“A ghost?” she repeated.

“Well, that's what she told everybody around here,” he paused with the cup of coffee halfway to his lips, “That you died.”

She let out a scoff of disbelief before pursing her lips, trying to conceal her surprise. _Her own mother told everybody she had died._

“Sounds about right,” she mumbled before taking a sip. “I went to the house. Where did they go?”

The man let out a long sigh and scratched his bushy sideburns for a second.

“Not sure. They packed one day and they were gone, just like that. Didn’t tell us anything, but I got wind of a city—Boston, New York, maybe.”

She nodded, staring at the faint steam rising from the coffee.

“Peter was a good feller, he was,” he continued, “And I always respected your momma but, after he died, she lost sight of… you know, what _mattered_ most.”

 _Lost sight…_ It was clearly an understatement.

“So they left with Frank?” she asked—the mention of his name still left a bad taste in her mouth.

He snorted and shook his head.

“ _No_ , Frank was long gone. She had a new man, a real piece of work, and a couple months later, they were both gone.”

“ _Both_? What about the others?” she insisted. “Jim, Laura, Annabelle?”

His eyes roamed over her face in blatant confusion and he blinked slowly, shaking his head.

“Jesus, you don’t even know—” He cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “Jimmy died a few years after you left. Pneumonia. Then Laura, a few years later. Yellow fever, if I recall correctly. And Annabelle, well… like you, she was sent away, years ago. Never knew where.”

It suddenly felt like a knife was digging into her heart and her throat tightened. She exhaled loudly, trying to hold back her tears. _She had only come back for them._

“I’m sorry, Pearl.” He downed his cup of coffee and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “You shouldn't have to hear it from me.”

She swallowed hard with a nod and pushed the cup away from her before getting up. 

“Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Doyle, I should get going now.” A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly. “I'll probably stay in Valentine for a few days.”

“Sure, kid.” He struggled to get up from the chair. “Come over for dinner one day.”

He walked her back out and stood on the porch, one hand resting on his hip, the other blocking the sun from his eyes.

“If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, Mr. Doyle.” She unhitched her horse and climbed into the saddle, holding the reins in one hand. “I appreciate that.”

“You take care now,” he said, nodding once.

She waved back and rode away.

Soon, her chest was so tight that she had to stop and when she reached the edge of the forest, she got off her horse and stumbled against a tree for support, eyes screwed shut.

She had lived for years, convinced that she would see her siblings again, saving, planning a new life for them in the city. _All for nothing_. 

Resting her head against the rough bark, her fists clenched unconsciously and the tears redoubled. She stayed motionless for a few seconds until she heard the soft thud of hooves behind her. She let out a long breath and straightened up, quickly wiping her face with the sleeve of her dress _._

After patting the horse's neck, she slowly settled into the saddle and rode back to town, still in a daze.

Before she knew it, Valentine came into view. A light rain began to fall and the road turned into a muddy mess, forcing her to slow down her horse. She didn't know what to do, her thoughts were swirling in her mind, preventing her from being able to think rationally, so she decided to focus on her priorities. _Getting supplies_. She could think about the rest later _._

A tiny bell rang as she pushed open the door of the general store, and she hurried inside, taking refuge from the rain. A man was already talking to the shopkeeper, leaning on the counter and she gave him a quick sidelong glance. _Three-piece suit, stiff collar, freshly shined shoes_. He would have blended in with most of the city folks in Saint Denis. _Not in Valentine._

She picked up three cans of beans, shifting her attention to an older man waiting for his turn, right behind him. He was whistling an old song her father used to sing and she smiled to herself. She noticed his gaze fixed on the chain of a pocket watch hanging out of the other man's coat and she wondered if he was lost in thought or simply waiting for the right moment to snatch it.

She returned her gaze to the products on the shelves with a quiet sigh.

“Where's the soap?” she asked out loud.

“Over there, in the corner,” the shopkeeper pointed next to him.

“He's serving me already, young lady,” the man at the counter retorted, flicking through the catalog. "Wait for your turn."

 _And charming as well_. She balanced the soap on top of the cans, glaring at him. The other man stopped whistling and he met her gaze for a brief moment _._

As she approached the counter, she tripped, intentionally dropping everything on the floor. The soap landed on the shiny shoes, leaving a faint trace of white, and the cans rolled between his feet.

“I'm so sorry,” she apologized precipitately and crouched down in front of him.

The man rolled his eyes and picked up the soap with a grimace. Behind, the older man caught on and his hand moved so fast that she barely saw the watch disappear into his own pocket before she got back up.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, placing all the cans on the counter.

Oblivious to what had just happened, the rich man finally paid and left the store, mumbling under his breath. She heard the words ‘muddy hellhole’ and ‘hillbillies’ before the bell rang again and the door shut behind him. The other man chuckled and put the bottle of alcohol on the counter with a sigh, handing the shopkeeper a few creased dollar bills.

She picked up a box of matches and returned to the counter, as the other man was leaving.

“Miss.” He tipped his hat to her.

“Have a good day,” she replied politely.

The bell rang and she glanced at the shopkeeper with a nod.

“That's all.”

He pulled out a paper bag from under the counter and began packing. Before she could count her money, he was already pushing it across the counter toward her.

“It's already been paid for.”

She furrowed her brows, turning toward the door before letting out a surprised ‘oh’.

“Ok, well… Thank you.”

She picked up the bag and strode out of the store, but the man was already gone _. And the rain had stopped._

Standing on the bottom step, she opened the paper bag and emptied the contents into her own bag. She folded the paper bag in half and shoved it in with the rest. _A weird habit she had picked up from her sister_.

She grabbed the horse's reins with a sigh and stared at the stables at the end of the road, boots sinking into the mud. She saw a familiar face, Mr. Levi, filling the water troughs and she had to restrain herself from waving at him. _She had good memories of him showing her how to care for a horse but, weirdly, she remembered her father avoiding him too—although she couldn't remember why_.

After throwing one last glance at him, she turned around and climbed onto the saddle, looking up at the sky. The sun was slowly descending behind the buildings and she waited, letting a wagon drive past, before riding away. _She had to return to the house before dark_.

*

After finishing the can of baked beans, she wiped the spoon clean with an old rag and sat on the floor. Letting her head rest against the wall, a pang of sadness tightened her throat as she looked around the place. She remembered how hard life became after her father's death and how they had to fight to keep the house. _But it wasn't home anymore—she felt like a stranger intruding into someone else’s house_.

With a sigh, she got a match out of the box to light the oil lamp and she placed the photo of her father next to her with a tight smile _._

“Good night,” she whispered, wrapping herself in the blanket.

 _Wherever he was, she hoped he couldn't see what had happened to the house_ — _to his family._

______________

A few hours later, she woke up, heart pounding. She couldn't remember if she had just had a nightmare, but her whole body was on edge. She sat up and stayed completely still, pricking up her ears. A sudden gust of wind blew, whistling through the cracked windows, but then she heard it again. _A voice. Whispers_.

The sound jolted her up and she squinted, her hand instinctively reaching for the shotgun. She could hear male voices outside—more than one—and she held her breath, turning toward the door. There was the thud of boots on the porch and she broke open the shotgun, quickly pushing two cartridges into the barrels. The footsteps stopped and she strode toward the door, snapping the gun shut.

“This is private property!” she shouted through the door. “You need to leave now.”

There was a long silence before a voice finally spoke.

“Ma’am, we apologize for disturbing you at this time of night, but we need your help. My brother here has been injured and we need a place to rest.”

Even through the door, the voice sounded clear, deep, though almost strained, and her fingers tightened around the weapon as the man continued.

“A group of dangerous criminals is heading our way right now and we would appreciate it if you could kindly let us in.”

She chuckled at the audacity.

“I'm no doctor,” she warned them. “but I have a loaded gun so walk away.” 

Another silence. But when the deep voice spoke again, there was an impatient edge to it.

“Because _you_ are the one doing all the talking, I assume… that there is no man in the house. Am I correct?”

She wasn't sure if it was a question or a threat, either way, she let him continue.

“Listen, we ain't the best people but we have _morals_. There are three of us, we mean you no harm, but the men coming? _Well_ , they ain’t civilized people. They’ll be coming here, looking for us and finding a woman... _alone_ , in a house...” His voice trailed off and she heard the floorboards creak behind the door. “We won’t hurt you, you have my _word_.”

 _He was a smooth talker._ If what he said was true, then she had to get out of there... _or at least let them in_. She took a deep breath and unlocked the door.

She immediately raised her weapon and took a step back. The three men were standing on the porch and she focused her attention on the closest one. He slowly held his hands up and she noticed the two pistols holstered on his hips, a gold watch chain hanging out of his vest pocket and two large gold rings on his fingers—his confidence was almost palpable.

“Thank you, miss.” He gestured aside. “As you can see, it's just us three.”

She looked at the man next to him and when she met his gaze, she saw a flicker of recognition pass across his face. _It was the man from the store._

“Small world,” he said with a nod.

He leaned against the other man, one foot slightly off the floor. _He was the one hurt_. She moved aside and gestured for them to come in.

“Get in, don’t try anything.”

They quickly entered the house and she glanced at the third man who was closing the door behind him, a rifle strapped to his shoulder. He placed the lantern on the floor but she couldn't get a good look at his face, half-hidden under the brim of his hat. 

“Son, keep an eye out,” the other man started, “Hosea, please, rest that leg.”

 _Hosea_. She made a mental note of his name.

“What happened?” she asked, noticing the hole in his pants below the knee.

She picked up her own lantern and crouched while Hosea was slowly rolling up one pant leg. 

“It's just a graze.” He shrugged it off.

“A graze that _will_ get infected, old friend.” The other man said, one hand stroking his mustache. “What are we gonna do with you when you lose a leg?”

He chuckled. The wound wasn't deep but it definitely needed to be covered.

“It needs to be cleaned,” she agreed, straightening up.

She took out the small bag she kept for medical supplies and cleaned the wound before covering it with a bandage.

“Miss, you are a _lifesaver_.”

She was about to reply when the man standing at the window grunted, grabbing his rifle in his hands.

“ _They're here._ ”

She immediately got up to peek through the dirty window and saw the vague outline of horses and she counted six men, two already walking toward the house. _They weren't lying_.

“You go hide in the room.”

She realized that he was talking to her and she hurried to the other room with a quick nod.

“Away from the windows,” he added while reloading his rifle. “You don’t come out ‘till we call you.”

She pushed the old door shut and sat on the floor, next to the broken bed when a loud knock resonated from the front door. She waited, shotgun laid across her lap.

_Thank god she had let them in._

She heard the front door creak open, a few angry curses and the first shot echoed loudly through the house. She immediately covered her ears, every gunshot making her heart jump in her chest. 

After a few long minutes, the silence returned and she remained on the floor, holding her breath. She heard heavy footsteps and the familiar voice called her out.

“You can come out now.”

She let out a breath of relief and slowly stepped back out, glancing around the room.

“What's your name, miss?”

_The smell of gunpowder floating in the air, bullets holes along the walls, glass shards..._

“ _Miss?”_

“Pearl,” she replied absently.

“My name is Dutch,” the man said, then pointed at the other two. “This is Hosea. Arthur.”

She nodded politely and glanced through the open door at the man lying face down on the porch.

“Was that all of them?” she asked without looking away.

“I doubt it,” Dutch replied, quickly holstering his two pistols. “We’ll wait until morning. Just in case.”

It was… _thoughtful_. Most people would have fled and left her to deal with the consequences. She grabbed one of the lanterns, but before she got to the door, Arthur was already standing in her way.

“You can't go out now.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder. 

“It's not safe out there, miss.”

She raised the lantern to get a better look at his face and her eyes lingered on the scar across his chin. She cleared her throat quietly, turning to Dutch who still had his hand on her shoulder.

“I need to check on my horse, I left her out there,” she explained, “I wanna make sure she's ok.”

Her body started to tense and he must have felt it too because he withdrew his hand and his gaze drifted above her head.

“Go with her, Arthur,” he agreed.

He pushed the door wider and she stepped over the dead man, carefully glancing around her. She couldn't see much in the dark but, apart from her own footsteps on the porch, everything was silent, too silent.

“She's gone.”

Her heart sank into her stomach. _What if she was hurt? What if she had been hit by a stray bullet?_

“I'm sure she's _fine_. It was real noisy here, she’ll come back,” Arthur reassured her, a hand on her back, slowly leading her back to the front door.

“Right,” she whispered.

 _She would come back_. After throwing one last glance over her shoulder, she stepped into the house.

“Everything ok?” Dutch asked.

“The horse is gone,” Arthur replied while closing the door.

Hosea lifted his gaze to her as she was returning to her blanket on the floor.

“It'll be back,” he said reassuringly. “Our horses left us high and dry too, but they always come back.”

She nodded and shook out her blanket to get rid of the shards of glass before spreading it back on the floor. She lay down with her back facing them, her lantern placed beside her head. Of course, she had no intention of sleeping but she didn't want them to pay attention to her.

She stared at the flickering flame, absently listening to their conversation. The wind was blowing through the broken windows, muffling their voices, and soon, all she could hear was the occasional sound of boot heels and spurs against the floorboards.

She had no idea how long it had been, whether she had gotten lost in her thoughts or if she had dozed off but she suddenly opened her eyes, casting a slow glance around the room. The lanterns had run out and she could barely make out the dark shadows on the floor. After picking up the shotgun, she pushed the blanket off her and quietly headed for the door. She slipped out of the house and took a deep breath.

The night was peaceful, a cool breeze rustling through the leaves and the quiet sound of an owl somewhere above her head. With a tight throat, she walked around the house, scanning her surroundings.

She had a strange feeling—her stomach was in knots—as if something bad was happening. Suddenly someone cleared their throat close behind her and she spun on her heel with a gasp. Arthur was leaning against the wall, face tilted down, one foot up. He glanced up at her before pushing away from the wall.

“ _Miss_.”

She let out a quiet breath and relaxed, nodding toward the forest.

“I need to have a look.”

He was already shaking his head before she had even finished her sentence and he gestured toward the house. 

“Get back inside. I'll keep an eye out for the horses.”

Her gaze drifted to the path before coming back to him and she shook her head, lips pursed.

“I'm going,” she retorted, turning on her heel.

“Wait.”

His hand closed firmly around her wrist and he held out his other hand with a sigh.

“I don't need help,” she started.

“ _Well_.” He took the weapon from her, making sure it was loaded. “Maybe you will.”

She was about to thank him when she remembered that she was only in this situation because of them so she stayed quiet instead. They started walking and he patted his pockets until he found a crumpled up pack of cigarettes. 

“So you _own_ that house?” he glanced sideways at her, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. “If you don't mind me asking.”

She slowed down and took the cigarette he was offering her.

“I _grew up_ in that house, Mr.—”

He stopped to strike the match against the sole of his boot and lit her cigarette before lighting his own.

“Arthur Morgan,” he said, cigarette bouncing between his lips. “No family around?”

He blew out a cloud of smoke and tossed the match on the floor.

“No. _Well_ —” she paused before clearing her throat. “I came here to find them, but I was too late.”

She looked away, still feeling his gaze on her but he sensed her reluctance and didn’t press any further. They approached the edge of the forest and he whistled a few times, adjusting his hat. Almost immediately, there was the faint sound of a cantering horse and she instinctively moved aside. _It was his horse._

“Good boy.” Arthur scratched his back.

Before she knew it, there was another rustle behind her and her horse appeared, emerging slowly from the bushes.

“Thank god,” she breathed out.

“What'd I tell you?”

Arthur whistled again and she smiled for the first time that night while running her hands along her horse’s belly, looking for any injuries.

They found the rest of the horses grazing just yards away and they slowly led them back to the path.

“Who are these men anyway?” she asked.

She didn't want to know too much, but it was hard to resist curiosity. Before she got an answer, there was the cold grip of leather around her wrist and Arthur pulled her down into a crouching position. He pointed toward the trees and she held her breath.

“Goddamn O’Driscolls…”

Two men were riding up toward the house and she strained her eyes.

“They’re holding something,” she whispered.

Arthur's expression darkened and he jumped up, cursing under his breath.

“Wait here,” he added in a rough voice, before swinging up into the saddle.

“What’s—” she started but he was already gone.

Behind her, the horses started to stomp nervously and she got up to have a better view. A few seconds later, there was the crash of broken glass and a sudden burst of light. _The house_. The gunshots that followed only lasted a few seconds and she jumped into the saddle without thinking, pulling the other horses with her. 

By the time she arrived, the fire had already spread through the back of the house, smoke rising high into the sky. 

She let go of the other horses and slid off the saddle, staring in shock. She spotted two bodies lying in the grass—the O’Driscolls—and she slowly approached the house, the smoke already creeping into her lungs.

“Miss, we have your bag.”

Hosea's voice resonated behind her but he was interrupted by the sound of distant gunfire.

“They’re coming, boys! Let's show them! Arthur, take her away!” Dutch shouted, his voice carrying over the fire's roar.

Trying to ignore the scalding heat on her skin, she hurried to the porch but a strong grip pulled her away almost immediately.

“Goddamnit, woman!” Arthur let out angrily. “Whatever’s inside, it ain’t worth dying for!”

“I left something inside. I need it—Let me go!” She tried to jerk out of his grip.

A bullet whistled over their heads and she instinctively ducked. She finally stepped back and looked at the chaos around her. There was a loud crack at the back of the house, momentarily covering the sound of gunfire. From the corner of her eye, she saw her horse flee, quickly followed by another one but her body was frozen. She couldn't move. _There was nothing she could do._

“The horses!” Dutch shouted, drawing his pistols.

Without warning, Arthur's hands were around her waist and he lifted her off the ground with a grunt, settling her on his horse.

“Wait for us in Valentine,” he ordered, shoving the shotgun in her hands.

“Wait, I—” 

But he wasn't listening anymore. He smacked the horse's hindquarters with a firm hand, sending her away.

Cussing out loud, she clutched the reins and fought the urge to look over her shoulder again. She pulled on the reins, trying to stop the horse but, ignoring her attempt, he kept galloping through the fields, ears pinned back, nostrils flaring.

After a few minutes, he finally slowed down and she managed to stop him. He stomped and snorted a few times and she climbed off, legs shaking. 

“I can’t believe this.” She slowly patted him, heart pounding.

She leaned forward with her eyes shut, trying to catch her breath _. What had just happened?_

She turned around, watching the trail of smoke rising up into the night sky. She hadn't even been back for a whole day...

 _It was those men. It was their fault_.

She sighed and shook her head. She couldn't even be mad at them. _It wasn't about them_. She looked at the faint lights in the distance—Valentine was only a few minutes away. _Hopefully, they would go there_.

She rode through the empty town and a few drunks came out of the saloon, staggering down the steps, slurring obscenities at her. She rode past without a word and headed toward the station. After crossing the train tracks, she dismounted and led the horse to a large rock on the side of the road. She sat on it and kept her gaze on the road. The adrenaline was slowly dissipating, leaving her exhausted and cold.

She didn't know how long she had been waiting—she had lost all sense of time—so she started making plans. She couldn't sit there all night and wait, expecting them to still be alive. 

After finding a few dollars in the saddlebag, she sat back down, unconsciously smoothing the dress over her lap a few times to comfort herself. _She could always turn to Mr. Doyle for help..._

“There she is!”

Her head snapped up and she saw two figures riding towards her. Dutch. Hosea. She got up and scanned the road behind them. She felt a weight lifted off her shoulders as soon as she saw Arthur appear around the corner, riding her mount. _She couldn't have handled losing her, too..._

“Are you ok, miss?”

She tucked a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun and nodded slowly.

“I'm ok.”

She climbed into the saddle while Arthur put the rifle away into its holster and mounted his own horse in a smooth movement.

“We are _truly_ sorry for the unfortunate turn of events,” Dutch continued, holding the reins of his white horse with a tight grip. “Our camp is just outside town. We have food, supplies, you’ll be safe for the night.”

“Thank you.” She nodded promptly.

“That's the least we can do.”

She followed them down the road, lost in thought. She might have been pushing her luck, following strangers back to their camp, but she was willing to take the risk.

“So, earlier, at the store—”

She glanced at Hosea who had slowed down to ride next to her. 

“—Was it intentional or just my old mind playing tricks on me?”

She made an attempt at a smile, temporarily erasing the image of the burning house from her mind.

“I'm not that clumsy. I figured he wouldn't miss the watch anyway.”

He chuckled quietly and pulled it out of his vest pocket.

“Platinum, too,” he added. “Don't see a lot of them around here.”

“True.” She shifted in the saddle. “It's different in the city.”

“The city, you said?” Dutch asked.

“I’ve spent most of my life in Saint Denis, far east," she explained, "but I grew up in—well, in that house.”

“Saint Denis, uh?” Hosea paused, nodding absently. “I remember. We were in those parts with Bessie back in the days, Dutch. She loved the city, I hated it.”

“What woman wouldn't like the city?” Dutch chuckled.

“Well,” Pearl started as they crossed the tracks. “It isn’t that nice. Especially if you've lived there long enough.”

“Nothing like wide-open spaces,” Arthur’s voice grunted. “Peace and quiet.”

“Of _course_ ,” Dutch retorted loudly. “But this is a fine country. A _rich_ country. And cities, well... they are full of _opportunities_ , son.”

A twig snapped somewhere to their left and a deep voice resonated in the darkness.

“Who’s there?!”

She squinted, vaguely making out a silhouette emerging from the trees. 

“It’s us, Charles,” Dutch replied.

The horses came to a stop and she was able to take a closer look at him. He had long dark hair tied in a loose ponytail and a rifle resting in his hands. His gaze immediately landed on her before drifting back to Dutch.

“Ran into trouble?”

“Some O’Driscolls ambushed us on our way back. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

She looked further up the path and noticed two campfires and several tents. It was bigger than she had imagined and she was relieved to spot a few dresses hung up on a line—at least, there were other women in camp. 

They hitched the horses to the post and she was handed her bag along with her blanket.

“Tomorrow will be a better day.” Dutch turned to her, letting his hand rest on Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur, make sure the lady is comfortable for the night... or what’s left of it.”

He walked away and Arthur gestured at one of the tents.

“This way.”

She dropped her bag on the floor and sat on the bed.

“Thank you. But I don't mind sleeping on the floor,” she added, guessing it was his tent.

“No, no, you sleep here.” He waved a hand dismissively. “By the way—”

He paused and shoved a hand in his pocket before retrieving a black and white photograph, edges slightly burnt.

“I figured that's what you were looking for.”

“You went back inside… Thank you so much. This photo means a lot to me— _T_ _hank you_ ,” she repeated, brushing the dirt off.

He nodded and, after a small hesitation, he turned around to look at her, scratching the stubble on his chin.

“I'm sorry—”

She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

“—about the house, you know,” he continued. “And your family.”

She nodded and he pursed his lips, moving his head down almost imperceptibly. As he walked away, she looked at the picture for a few more seconds before slipping it into her pocket.

She lay down with a long sigh, the sounds of snores echoing around her. She closed her eyes but she knew, no matter how tired she was, that there would be no rest for her that night.


	2. Camp

**A week earlier**

"I know I'm a week late but I wanted to get it right."

Mrs. Wilson passed a hand over the soft fabric and looked at herself in the mirror, turning from side to side to admire the dress.

"This is your best work, Pearl. You've outdone yourself."

"It's the fabric," she brushed off the compliment. "I've never used something so expensive."

"We both know it's not just the fabric," the woman retorted with a smile. "I'll show this one around tomorrow night. I can bet you, you'll have orders waiting for you when you come back."

The woman sat on the chair and opened a small drawer, whispering a series of numbers until she handed her a few bills.

"Did I tell you I've ordered a new sewing machine?" She closed the drawer and quickly picked up the empty cups. "You'll love it. I was thinking I could teach the girls with the old one when you're all settled here."

She disappeared into the kitchen and Pearl pulled out her pocket watch to glance at the time.

"They'd love it," she replied absently.

There were a few seconds of silence before the voice resonated from the kitchen again.

"When are you leaving, dear?"

"Early in the morning," Pearl answered, slipping the watch back into her pocket. "I'm afraid I'll have to go now."

The woman reappeared with a quick nod, drying her hands on a dishtowel.

"I'll walk you out."

She headed downstairs and Pearl followed in silence, sliding a hand along the banister. 

"Nervous?" the woman guessed as she opened the front door.

"Yes." Pearl chuckled quietly, the heels of her leather boots clicking against the wooden porch steps. "I was fine this morning but _now_ …"

Her voice trailed off and she took a deep breath of fresh air.

"That's perfectly normal." Mrs. Wilson patted the horse and turned toward her. "Are you sure you don't want to leave her with me?" she continued. "You know she'll be looked after."

"I'm not leaving without her."

The woman shook her head defeatedly, her forehead wrinkling.

"You are too stubborn for your own good, Pearl. You could leave the horse here and catch a train straight to Valentine." She checked the saddle straps, running her fingers over the damaged leather. "Do you know what route you're taking?"

"Yes."

"Run me through it."

Pearl sighed with a smile. "I'll head to Rhodes first, then straight through Scarlett Meadows, until I reach the Heartlands. Then I know my way around there."

"Remember, a woman alone is easy prey. If you get stopped for your money, hand it over, it's never worth dying for. If it's your dignity, you fight back."

"I'll be fine, I promise," Pearl reassured her while patting the horse. "She isn't used to long journeys, and neither am I, so I'll only ride a few hours every day. Valentine isn't that far after all."

The woman pursed her lips and watched Pearl climb into the saddle, a flash of worry passing over her face.

"Send me a letter when you arrive."

"Will do. Thank you for everything."

Before she went, Mrs. Wilson reached for her hand and her gaze hardened.

"You take your siblings and you go. Do you hear me? Do not let that mother of yours stop you."

Pearl squeezed her hand with a nod.

"I won't."

**Present day**

Pearl sat up on the bed and looked around the camp. She had seriously considered leaving before everybody woke up but that meant never coming back. And even though she was surrounded by strangers—outlaws from the looks of it—she needed to see what happened next. She didn't want to return to the city and pretend that life could go on as it had before. She was desperate for something significant to happen, something that would show her that there was still a reason for all this mess.

Feeling a steady gaze on her, she glanced up and saw the man from last night, Charles, who was sitting on a chair, carving a stick with his pocket knife. His eyebrows furrowed slightly and, without a smile, he returned his attention to the knife. She sighed and looked away, tucking some loose strands of hair back into her bun. By the campfire, two women were throwing glances at her, whispering and giggling and she turned her head again when she heard some footsteps on her left. 

An older woman was walking toward her and, as soon as Pearl met her icy gaze, she swallowed the greeting back, convinced she wouldn't hear anything polite coming out of her mouth. The woman strode past her with a scoff and snapped her fingers as an angry mother would.

"Mr. Morgan! A word."

After pouring himself a cup of coffee, Arthur straightened up with a sigh.

"Yes, Miss Grimshaw."

Not wanting to pry, Pearl looked away, but the woman didn't lower her voice, allowing her to hear everything.

"Your romantic life is none of my business, Mr. Morgan, but you'd be kind enough to keep your conquests _away_ from camp…"

Pearl pursed her lips to suppress a smile when she saw Arthur's confused expression.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

" _Miss_."

The deep voice startled Pearl and she looked up to see Dutch standing next to her, a corner of his mouth slightly raised.

"How are you feeling today?" He scratched a match and lit his cigar.

"Not bad, thank you." 

He followed her gaze and stayed silent for a few seconds before letting out a deep chuckle.

"That woman is relentless," he sighed before gesturing to them. "Miss Grimshaw, Arthur! Why don't you join us over here?"

Pearl unconsciously tensed up when the woman turned a piercing gaze to them. Her arms were folded across her chest and she closed the distance between them with impatient strides. 

" _Dutch_ ," she greeted him coldly.

He moved to the side to point at Pearl with his cigar.

"This is Pearl—" his voice trailed off.

"Wright," she reminded him rapidly.

"Miss Pearl _Wright_. We had the pleasure to meet her last night after a run-in with some O'Driscolls," he continued. "She kindly let us in her house and helped old Hosea with his wound. Unfortunately, her house was set on fire in the middle of the night. Evidently, we had to offer our apologies and a warm place to sleep."

Gaze drifting from Dutch to Arthur and finally to Pearl, Miss Grimshaw rested a hand on her hip.

"Is this true?"

"Yes."

She let out a sigh and gave the men a disapproving look.

"What is wrong with you boys? First, Mrs. Adler." She gestured vaguely over her shoulder. "Now, this poor girl? This is becoming a habit."

"Well, it wasn't exactly _us_ who set the house on fire," Dutch corrected.

But Miss Grimshaw wasn't listening to him and her attention returned to Pearl who was finally starting to relax.

"Have you had anything to eat? I'm guessing this is for her." She took the cup of coffee out of Arthur's hand without waiting for an answer and gave it to Pearl. "There, honey."

"Sure," Arthur said anyway, gesturing to his cup with a nod.

"First, I'll have a talk with Miss Wright," Dutch continued glancing at her, "and then I'll introduce her to everybody else. Does this sound acceptable, Miss Grimshaw?"

"Well, you do what you have to do, Dutch." She nodded and started walking away. "But make sure you send her to me when you're done."

Taking a sip of the warm coffee, Pearl smiled absently and watched her disappear behind a tent.

"Miss Grimshaw's been around for a long time." Dutch exhaled a cloud of thick smoke, tightening his fingers around the cigar. "And despite the appearances, she _can_ be a nice woman." 

"Most of the time," Arthur added with a sigh.

He readjusted his hat and walked to the campfire to get himself another cup of coffee.

"Let's go for a ride." Dutch glanced down at her and pointed toward the horses. "You and me. You can finish that coffee, take your time," he added calmly when he saw her about to get up. "We have all day. And what a beautiful day!"

Arms stretched out, he walked away and she took a large gulp of coffee. She knew it was time for her to answer some questions. _It was only fair_.

After finishing her drink, she quickly picked up her stuff and walked to the horses where Dutch was already waiting for her.

"Ready?"

Silencing the worried voice in her head, she nodded and they left the camp without exchanging another word.

The day was indeed beautiful. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and a cool breeze was making the scorching sun bearable as they took the main path through the Heartlands. 

"Peaceful, isn't it?" Dutch finally broke the silence.

"I almost forgot how beautiful this part of the country was," she agreed, glancing at the vast plains.

She would have been happy to be back, in other circumstances, but the bittersweet feeling of being there without her family was too painful. Sooner or later, she would have to leave again.

"Excuse my curiosity, but—" He glanced at her sideways. "What took you so far east, away from your family?"

She could have given him a short answer but it wasn't what he was asking for, she was there with him for a reason. _He wanted to know her story._

So she started talking… and talking. From the day her father died, to the decline of her family, her mother, her life in the city... She was used to making up so many lies about her past that she was almost relieved to tell the whole truth for once. She had nothing worth hiding anyway, not from them.

Trust was a dangerous thing but sometimes you just had to give it and hope for the best. _At least that's what her father used to say._

Dutch listened attentively as she laid out her whole life, occasionally interrupting her to get more details. As they spoke, they reached the top of the hill where they could see the main road and the wagons riding in the distance.

"It's quite a life you've lived already," he said, his gaze drifting across the horizon. "At such a young age _and_ as a woman… it's remarkable."

She shrugged her shoulders and focused on three riders who had just emerged from the forest onto the road. Dutch spotted them and whistled sharply, causing them to slow down before proceeding toward them.

"You know, I can usually tell when someone lies to me. Especially women," he chuckled, as they slowly led the horses down the hill. "But I don't think you are."

She forced a smile, nodding slowly. Dutch was hard to read but as she started formulating a question in her head, he continued.

"We're not some... low-life degenerates trying to survive here. We are _family_. We look out for each other." He looked at her, slowing down his horse. "We help folks that need helping and the ones who are a threat to us? We treat them accordingly."

"Of course." 

His warning was smoother than the usual 'betray us and you're dead' she had heard too many times.

"Before I go back to your camp, there's someone I need to visit," she explained. "An old neighbor."

"Of course." He gestured ahead of them. "Maybe you can join them."

Meeting them halfway down the path, Arthur was accompanied by two other men she had caught glimpses of at the camp. One was older, dressed in dirty clothes, his forehead glistening with sweat and the other one had a thin distinctive mustache and was wearing a poncho that looked too warm for the weather.

"Where are you going?" Dutch asked.

"Valentine," Arthur replied, scratching his neck. "Got a few errands to run."

"Well, Miss Wright here will ride with you for a little while. I trust you boys to behave," he added with a nod. " _Miss_. I appreciated your honesty."

He gave Arthur a last look and they both nodded as if they'd just had a silent exchange of words before turning his horse around.

"You know us, Dutch." The older man chuckled and adjusted his hat as Dutch trotted away. "We're all gentlemen here. Pleasure to meet you, miss. Name's Uncle."

"Pearl Wright, nice to meet you."

The man with the mustache brought his horse closer to her and extended his hand.

"Javier Escuella." He bowed his head and kissed her hand.

"Pleasure." She nodded politely.

"So where is it you're heading?" Arthur asked, shifting in his saddle.

"Just visiting a neighbor." Pearl slowed down to let a wagon pass. "He must have seen the fire last night."

"'Course."

_"Move, goddamn it!"_

She flinched and looked over her shoulder to see Uncle riding in the middle of the road, forcing the wagon behind to stop. He slowly steered his horse to the side while making a gesture with his hand.

"Hold your horses, will ya?! Ain't no way to talk to someone. I _am_ moving."

After muttering a few inaudible words, the man in the wagon flicked the reins as soon the road was clear and the horses cantered off, leaving behind a cloud of dust. 

"You know—" Uncle started, trying to clear the dust in front of him. "I shouldn't be riding in my condition. You kids don't realize the pain I feel every day."

"Nobody forced you to leave camp, old man," Javier retorted with a sigh. "In fact, I don't remember inviting you either."

" _What_?" 

Pearl smiled and continued to listen to their bickering in silence.

The train station came into view and she remembered the letter she had promised Mrs. Wilson. The knot in her stomach reappeared and she swallowed hard as they rode past the station.

She would write to her... omitting, of course, her sudden involvement with a gang she knew nothing about and who would probably cause her more trouble. _That could wait_. 

"Need anything?" Arthur asked as they stopped in front of the general store.

"Yes, actually."

She hitched her horse next to theirs and started counting the pennies lying at the bottom of her saddlebag while Javier and Uncle disappeared into the saloon.

"I need to send a letter," she explained as Arthur stood behind her.

"Wait."

Arthur tore a page from his journal and handed her a pen.

"I'll get you an envelope."

"Thank you."

She sat on the bench outside the store, staring at the town, the piece of paper clutched in her hand. Her gaze drifted away from the hotel across the road and she took a deep breath. The smell of livestock manure hung heavy in the air but it was somewhat comforting and she definitely preferred it to the smell of the city.

With a long sigh, she started scribbling down a few words on the paper. She wasn't good at expressing how she felt so she kept it short and simply stated that she had arrived too late and she would let her know when she planned to come back to Saint Denis.

She folded the letter as Arthur came back out and he sat next to her, handing her an envelope.

"Any family back in the city?"

"No." Pearl slid the letter into the envelope.

He nodded before pinching some tobacco between his fingers.

"I don't mean to pry, but how did you end up all the way there?"

She nodded and gazed into space.

"Well, after my father died, my mother had a hard time looking after us all. Four kids and she could have done with one less mouth to feed. So she did." She paused and sighed. "She sent me to an uncle in Saint Denis and never allowed me back here."

"I'm sorry," he said after a few seconds.

She looked at the cigarette he was rolling and glanced at him. His head was bowed, the brim of his hat hiding part of his face, and she could only see his lips pressed into a thin line. At that moment, she was tempted to ask something about him, something personal, but she knew it wasn't the right time. _Not yet_.

She looked back down at the envelope and started writing the address, pushing her thoughts to the back of her mind.

A voice from across the road caught her attention and she saw a couple in deep conversation next to a wagon. She recognized them—they hadn't changed much—and she realized that the woman was now staring at her, pulling at her husband's sleeve. There was no way she could recognize her after all these years, definitely not from this distance anyway…

_"Pearl?!"_

"Damn it," she whispered as the woman started waving at her.

"You know her?" Arthur lifted his gaze and looked at the woman.

She was already trotting across the road, her boots sucked into the mud at each step, the hem of her dress lifted up to her knees.

"Yes, we need to go—"

"Too late for that," Arthur commented with a chuckle, licking the cigarette paper.

"Pearl! Goodness me." The woman stopped and held onto the wooden pillar, out of breath. "I knew it was you. I told Henry, I told him, look at the girl over there, if it isn't one of Peter's daughters. _Wow_." She exhaled loudly and staggered to the bench. "Move over, will ya." She collapsed on the creaking bench and Pearl immediately squeezed herself against Arthur to avoid getting crushed under her weight. He moved over with a quiet "Jesus" and started rolling a second cigarette, the first one stuck between his pursed lips.

"You were the last person I was expecting to see today," the woman continued loudly, waving at her husband. "We thought you were dead. How have you been?"

"I've been fine, I—"

"We were talking about your mother the other day," she interrupted her. "We saw that bastard Frank in town last week. Filthy piece of scum… You seem fine, though," she added, glancing sideways at her. "Nice dress. I'm glad you don't seem to be following in your mother's footsteps. I sure _hope_ so."

Pearl gritted her teeth and reluctantly swallowed an insult before it had a chance to escape her mouth.

"Have you married?" she continued. "If you want to live around here, you shouldn't be without a husband, you know, the folks in town _will_ start talking. You must realize your mother has dishonored your father's name—"

Pearl stared at her feet, trying to ignore her words but it became increasingly hard and her whole body was starting to tense. That's when Arthur unexpectedly jumped in, making her lift her eyebrows in surprise.

"Ma'am. Arthur Callahan." He extended a hand to the woman with a nod. "The husband."

Pearl pursed her lips and watched the woman's face flood with color.

"Oh, you are… _Oh_ , my apologies, sir. I had no idea—"

"Yeah, well," Arthur interrupted her. "I don't think I like your tone very much." He finished rolling the second cigarette and leaned back, plucking a crinkled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. 

She opened her mouth to protest but her gaze lingered on the two pistols holstered on his hips and she giggled nervously.

"Rest assured, I didn't mean to be rude or—"

"Then make sure I don't hear any of them folks talk." He returned his gaze forward and his tone dropped until his voice was just a threatening growl. "Or I'm gonna be _real'_ upset." 

The woman giggled again and after smoothing her dress over her lap a few times, she sprang up and cleared her throat. 

"Of course, well, uh… it was a pleasure, Mr. Callahan. Pearl," she added with a nervous smile. "We'll catch up another time, I must go."

She vaguely gestured toward her husband before going down the wooden steps precipitately.

"Sure," Arthur chuckled before striking a match against the bench.

She ran back across the street and Pearl laughed quietly.

"You didn't have to terrorize her."

They got up and started walking.

"Sorry." He exhaled slowly, one corner of his mouth twitching. "Too damn tempting."

She scoffed and slipped the letter in the saddlebag.

"You're okay on your own?" he asked. "I gotta talk to the sheriff…"

"I'm fine," she replied, grabbing the reins. "I won't be long."

He nodded and started walking away but she froze, one foot in the stirrup.

"Hey!" she called him. "Can I come with you?"

He stopped and looked at the sheriff's office down the road.

"You mean—"

"To see the sheriff, yeah," she added rapidly. 

_She wanted to see that bastard again_.

"Okay."

They walked to the building and Arthur opened the door, letting her in first.

The place hadn't changed at all. The same musty smell lingered in the air and the bad memories came flooding back.

"Well, looky here."

Leaning back in his chair with his leather boots propped up on his desk, the sheriff turned his head lazily toward them. _He hadn't changed much either_. His mustache was thicker but apart from the additional wrinkles around his eyes, it didn't look like he had aged much after all the years. She narrowed her eyes and glanced at the new deputy sitting in the corner. The sheriff didn't even so much as look at her and gestured toward Arthur.

"Maybe he's our man. You a bounty hunter?"

"Maybe. Depends." Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Ah, I remember you." The deputy got up swiftly, pointing a finger at him.

Pearl felt Arthur's body stiffen next to her but his face remained impassive.

"You do?" He said, sounding merely interested.

"You caused quite a commotion the other night with that friend of yours," he continued with a nod.

"Is that right?" The sheriff narrowed his eyes and his gaze drifted to Pearl.

A glint of curiosity flashed in his eyes, his jaw relaxed and he let his feet fall on the floor with a thud.

"Do I know you?" he asked her, leaning forward on his desk.

"You do," she replied coldly. "Pearl Wright."

"Pearl Wright… Wright... Oh, my. Yes." He got up and walked around the desk to stand in front of her. " _Little Miss Wright_ ," he added with a chuckle. "I thought you were—"

"—dead," she finished his sentence with a nod.

"Your mother sure said it and you know how fast word gets around in this town. But maybe I shouldn't be surprised." He rested a hand on his hip. "Your mother was quite the character after all."

She tried to smile but only managed a grimace. _It was bold of him to mention her after what had happened..._

"How's your wife?" 

His face turned pale but he quickly hid it with a half-smile and a polite nod.

"She's doing just fine, thank you, miss." His gaze drifted from her to Arthur. "Look, I'm not a feller to pass a quick judgment but I know you don't hire a saint to catch a sinner. Now, unless you're here to turn yourself in, I don't need to know anything else." 

Arthur nodded, a corner of his mouth curling up.

"So what is it you need?"

"Benedict Allbright." The deputy replied, getting up. "The man claims to be a healer but his stuff is deadlier than a snake bite. He's going around, killing folks without even lifting a finger. _Here_." He snatched the poster off the wall and handed it to Arthur.

"He was last spotted near the Dakota River." The sheriff walked around the desk and sat back with a sigh. "Bring him back here and you'll be paid well."

"Okay." Arthur glanced down at the poster before folding it in half and shoving it into his pocket. "Shouldn't be hard."

"We need this one alive," the sheriff added. "He has a lot of debts to settle before anything happens to him."

Arthur tipped his hat and opened the door for Pearl. She glanced over her shoulder as the sheriff nodded at her.

"Miss."

She mumbled something polite before stepping out with a sigh.

"You okay?" He threw her a sidelong glance. "I take it you don't like him very much."

"He's a… rotten man," she said after a moment of hesitation.

Arthur chuckled and climbed onto his horse.

"Well. What did he say again? It doesn't take a saint—"

"—to catch a sinner," she finished the sentence with a nod. "He got that right."

She mounted her horse and said goodbye to Arthur before leaving town with a knot in her stomach.

She followed the main path for a few more minutes until she decided to cut through the forest. _There was something else she had to do before visiting Mr. Doyle._

As the sun's rays disappeared behind the tall trees and the air got cooler, she glanced down around her until she spotted a colorful carpet of flowers. She dismounted swiftly and, after lifting up the hem of her dress, she crouched and started picking them.

"Not for you." She pushed the horse's head as he was already sniffing the bunch of flowers with sudden interest.

The forest had changed, the trees had grown but she could have walked there with her eyes shut. _She was close._

She continued on foot for another minute until she recognized the familiar hill. Her hands started sweating and she took a long breath, wiping the tiny leaves stuck to her palm.

After a few more steps, she inhaled deeply, drawing in the fresh smell of pine and earth and stopped on top of the hill. She sighed with a smile and looked at a clearing through the trees in front of her.

"Everything has grown so tall now," she whispered to her horse, resuming her walk. "The cherry trees…"

She bit the inside of her cheek before continuing.

"Willows…"

Her throat tightened more and more and she took another deep breath, blinking a few times.

"Birch trees… A beautiful oak," she continued, voice shaking. "You know what they say about oaks? They are the—"

Her voice cracked and she let out a short breath, a tear racing down her cheek.

"They are the symbol of...of strength and…"

The reins slipped through her fingers and she staggered a few more steps before dropping to the ground.

"No…"

She screwed her eyes shut and took deep, laborious breaths, her fists clenched at her sides. She swallowed the sobs as best she could until her whole body was shaking and she blinked a few times to see the three blurry crosses through her tears. She wiped her runny nose on her sleeve as she read the names carved into the wood.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head, the salty taste of her tears seeping between her lips. "I'm sorry for being so late."

She crawled to place a small bunch of flowers on each grave. She shouldn't have left all these years pass without coming back. It was too late for answers now. Why did they never respond to her letters? Did they even get to read them?

She sat there, immobile, for what seemed like an hour. Two additional graves had been dug next to her father's. _Jim and Laura._ It was finally hitting her. There would be no reunion like she had hoped for years and the relationship with her mother would never get closure. She shut her eyes and said a silent prayer.

_There was nothing else she could do but accept it._

*

She was tying her horse to the hitching post when Mr. Doyle appeared on his porch, waving at her.

"Pearl, good lord! I was hoping to see you." He walked down the steps and met her halfway, a hand resting on his hip. "Did you see what happened to the house?!" he continued before she could say anything.

"I know, I was there." She followed him back toward the front door.

"Did you…" His voice trailed off and he glanced at her sideways.

"No," she replied rapidly. "No, it wasn't me. It was a gang from the area, apparently." She entered the house and closed the door behind her. "The O'Driscolls?"

"Oh." His gaze darkened. "They're nothing but trouble. I see them hanging around town sometimes, just waiting for someone to look at them the wrong way." He shook his head. "Makes me sick. I'm itching to tell them exactly what I think of them."

She shook her head in disapproval and sat down at the table.

"You don't need any trouble coming your way. It's not worth it."

"Ah." He nodded with a sigh. "With these leeches on my back every day about the house, I'd say I have enough problems indeed."

"They haven't given up yet?" 

He sighed before telling her about the couple's latest attempt to convince him to sell the house. Desperate for any kind of distraction, she listened avidly, pushing all her worried thoughts to the back of her mind. They talked for a long hour about how Valentine had changed since she had left, about the city and the things she had to do to survive.

"So how did you wind up on the street?" Mr. Doyle poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back down. "How did you get from living with that rich uncle to nothing?"

"Well," Pearl paused to take a long sip. "I won't curse the man because he sent me to school, you know, I'm grateful for that. But a few years passed and I was already becoming a burden to him and his family. They had plans to go to Boston and, of course, I wasn't part of it. So he started introducing me to a few men he knew in the city."

"Ahh, finding you a husband, huh?" he chuckled with a shake of his head. "How old were you back then?"

"About fifteen or sixteen. I wasn't interested, I was just a child after all. So they figured I wasn't their problem anymore and they left anyway. I had to leave the house two weeks later."

"Well, that ain't no way to treat a girl. And your own family. Why didn't you come back here?"

She shifted in the chair, shrugging her shoulders.

"I had no money, nothing. And I was angry." She shook her head with a bitter smile. " _So_ angry. First my mother, then my uncle. I guess I wanted to prove to them that I could survive and become someone."

Mr. Doyle unscrewed the bottle of whiskey and poured a small amount into their cups before lifting his drink.

"And you did a fine job."

She took a large gulp, her thoughts converging on Mrs. Wilson and the letter she had yet to send. She glanced at the window.

"I should get going now."

She finished her drink and thanked him for his hospitality. Not wanting to mention the gang, she vaguely implied that she was staying at the hotel in Valentine instead. _She didn't need him to question her sanity_.

Half an hour later, she was back in Valentine, heading toward the train station to post her letter _._

_I arrived safely. Unfortunately, I waited too long, everybody is long gone._

_I'll be sending another letter as soon as I plan my journey back._

_Pearl_

It was impersonal and completely detached but that's all she could manage at the moment. _Mrs. Wilson was good at reading between the lines anyway, she would understand_. 

She posted the letter and left Valentine with a tight throat. Hopefully, she wasn't making a mistake. 

As soon as she arrived at the camp, she spotted Dutch and Hosea playing cards at one of the tables. The old man nodded at her with a smile as she dismounted and she clasped her hands together, glancing around her. Dutch sat back in the chair and waved at her with his cigar, beckoning her to come closer.

"Everybody," he spoke up. "I need your attention for a minute."

A few heads turned and he got up, removing his cigar from between his teeth.

"As some of you may already know, Miss Wright, here, will be staying with us. I hope that, just like Mrs. Adler, we can all make her feel welcome." He turned toward Miss Grimshaw and continued. "Girls, how about you help her settle here?"

Miss Grimshaw nodded promptly and she grabbed Pearl by the arm as Dutch sat back down, placing the cigar back in his mouth.

"Follow me," she said. "We'll put you with the girls, behind Mr. Morgan's tent. Right here." She pointed at the spot before glancing around. "There should be enough room for you, what do you think?"

Pearl nodded. "Plenty. Thank you very much."

"Well, this is it then. Go get your things, quickly."

Pearl nodded again without a word and walked back to her horse to fetch her belongings. This all seemed surreal. She never thought she'd end up with these people only a day after she arrived.

Her heart tightened and she took the coat she had tucked behind the saddle.

"Let me help," one of the girls was behind her, already picking up her bag. "I'm Karen. This is Mary-Beth."

Pearl smiled at the other girl with a nod while Karen continued.

"Ignore Miss Grimshaw. She can be the sweetest woman one minute and the next she turns into a real witch."

"Whatever she tells you, don't take it to heart," Mary-Beth agreed.

"Okay, I'll remember that," Pearl said quietly as they walked back to the tents.

Both hands on her hips, Miss Grimshaw watched her with a serious expression on her face.

"If we want things to run smoothly in this camp, we all have to pitch in and do our share. So you'll have chores to do every day. Starting tomorrow."

With that, she walked away and Karen sat down with a long sigh.

"Welcome to jail," she mumbled, grabbing a shirt from a pile of clothes next to her. "I tried to sneak out today but, I swear to God, that woman's got eyes in the back of her head."

"She dragged you off that horse like a sack of potatoes," Mary-Beth laughed, sitting next to her.

"She's crazy." Karen stifled a chuckle.

"You're not allowed to leave?" Pearl asked, slightly worried.

"Not before I finish my _chores_ ," she retorted, waving at the pile of clothes. "I hate this."

"Oh." Pearl grabbed a shirt, inspecting the fabric until she found a hole. "Mending clothes. What else do you have to do?"

"Wash more clothes, but I don't mind that."

"Then leave that to me," Pearl said, taking the needle and thread from her hand. "It used to be my job in the city, I don't mind doing it."

"Oh, thank god," Karen sighed, tossing the shirt back into the pile. "Did you hear that, Tilly?" She asked loudly to the third girl who was hanging some clothes on a line. "We got ourselves a seamstress!"

" _Hallelujah_!"

Pearl stabbed the needle into the fabric and smiled, nodding toward the tables where people were playing cards.

"So how many people are there?"

"Oh, let me get us some coffee." Mary-Beth got up and hurried to the campfire.

"Well, you've met some of the boys already, right?" Karen asked, shifting closer to her. "Wait, just so I look busy," she added, picking up the shirt she had just tossed.

Pearl quickly told her what had happened the night before but when Karen started pointing at the rest of the people, she knew she would forget all their names after a few minutes. 

"Who else…" Karen glanced around her and her voice trailed off. " _Oh_. Abigail and John Marston, they have a kid, Jack."

"Thank you, Mary-Beth." Pearl took the cup of coffee and put it down next to her. "And the girl with Dutch?" She nodded toward a woman staring at her reflection in a small mirror.

"That's Molly O'Shea," Karen replied. "She's with Dutch. I'd like to say something nice about her but I wouldn't even know."

"Sadie Adler is sitting by the rock over there," Mary-Beth said. "She's been with us for a few weeks. Her husband got killed by the O'Driscolls, poor soul," she added in a whisper.

"Ah, talking about O'Driscolls! There's Kieran over there. He was with them before we took him."

"He's an O'Driscoll?!" Pearl frowned. "I thought Dutch didn't like them?"

"Oh, we sure don't like them. And I don't trust him one bit," Karen retorted, glaring at Kieran.

"He's not all bad," Mary-Beth said, after taking a sip of her coffee. "I kinda feel sorry for him. He's really trying to fit in, you know."

"You forgot two." Tilly joined them and sat with a sigh, wiping her hands on her dress. "Micah and Sean."

"Oh, Micah." Karen grimaced. "He's in jail. We're not missing that one. And Sean, he's just your average Irish bastard, I guess."

"Karen is sweet on him," Tilly whispered to Pearl.

"I ain't!" Karen slapped her arm with a chuckle. "But we don't get to be choosy either. Except for Mary-Beth who's waiting for her prince charming, of course."

Mary-Beth giggled and wiped her cup with a rag. "I am, indeed."

"What about you?" Karen raised an eyebrow, glancing at Pearl. "Do you have a man somewhere?"

"No."

"Then take your pick!" She retorted, making a vague gesture around her.

"There aren't many choices," Mary-Beth whispered.

"I'd rather not," Pearl scoffed. 

"Oh, come on! Don't be a prude, we're only talking."

"The poor girl just arrived and you haven't stopped talking for one minute!" Tilly laughed. "Plus, Mary-Beth is right. _Not_ many choices."

"Well. It's easy then," Karen continued, narrowing her eyes. "You don't want an old man—"

" _Ladies_." Bill walked past them with heavy footsteps, a beer in his hands.

"—or a dumb one," Karen added. "You sure don't want an O'Driscoll either. That leaves you with… Javier. That's your only option."

"What about Charles?" Mary-Beth asked.

"Charles never talks."

"I've talked to him."

"Well, then maybe _you_ should choose him," Karen retorted, taking a cigarette out of her pack. "The man has been with us for, how long? I've never had a conversation with him. I've tried, but after two words I feel like he's already bored to death."

"Probably is," Tilly commented with a cackle. "What about Lenny?"

"I think he's still upset about Jenny," Mary-Beth whispered.

There was a long 'ohhhh' from Tilly and Karen, and Pearl couldn't help but smile. She had no idea what they were talking about and she struggled to keep up with their conversation but she enjoyed having people talking to her. Since she had left Saint Denis, she had spent many days and nights alone with no one but her horse to talk to, and she had quickly grown tired of listening to her own voice.

"What about Arthur?" she asked without thinking.

She grimaced, realizing a little too late what she had indirectly suggested. Karen immediately nudged her in the ribs, a wide smile on her face.

" _Arthur_ , huh?"

"He would be a good choice," Mary-Beth agreed with a giggle.

"Yeah, yeah, he _would_ ," Karen retorted before lighting her cigarette. "Except it ain't happening. Arthur?" she snorted. "It'd be like playing music for a deaf man. Javier told me he never fools around with the girls when they go to the saloon."

"That Mary really broke his heart, didn't she?" Mary-Beth whispered.

"Good riddance, if you ask me."

Pearl picked up a pair of pants, trying her best not to ask any questions about the subject.

"Look how fast she's working while you're all talking." Tilly pointed at the pile of clothes next to Pearl. "If we finish what's left, we'll have some free time tomorrow."

"Yes! And maybe we can go to Valentine?" Mary-Beth suggested.

"Fine," Karen grunted, throwing the cigarette on the floor. "I need to leave this camp and see some new faces or I'll lose it."

"Maybe Pearl can tell us a story about the city in the meantime," Mary-Beth suggested, smiling at her. "You must have plenty."

Pearl paused, gazing into space for a few seconds before chuckling to herself. "Alright, okay. I got a good one..."

"Hold on, wait," Karen interrupted her before waving at someone in the distance. "Hey, Arthur! Come over here."

"What are you doing?" Pearl asked.

"Well, maybe he'll want to hear one of your stories too," she said innocently. "Mr. Morgan."

Pearl shook her head, suppressing a smile. Arthur was already standing in front of them, his head tilted to the side, a thumb tucked in his belt. 

"Miss Jones."

"Why don't you sit with us for a little while?" Karen lifted her head, blocking the sun with her hand. "Pearl was about to tell a story. How does that sound?"

Arthur glanced behind him and back at them before shrugging his shoulders. 

"Why not."

He sat down with a long sigh and Karen tapped Pearl on the shoulder. 

"Come on, girl." She gave her a quick wink. "We're _all_ ears."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe ❤


End file.
